


Control

by Brynn_Jones



Category: Nero Wolfe - Rex Stout
Genre: Case mention, Comfort, Friendship, M/M, Slight Blood and Gore mention, description of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9534182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynn_Jones/pseuds/Brynn_Jones
Summary: Cramer has trouble coming to terms with a difficult case. Archie is there to make it better. Or not.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Story is written in Cramer's POV, which I've never done before, so that might be interesting :D

It was cold. I was sitting on a wooden bench in the New York Central Park, clutching my suit jacket tightly to my frame, but I still couldn’t bring myself to leave and go somewhere warmer. The cold made me feel numb and that’s exactly what I wanted. The last case I was working on made me want to retch and I desperately needed to forget all about it or at least blur the sharply outlined details. It was a domestic. Man killed his wife and their thirteen-year-old daughter.

He called it in himself, at about three am. Said his wife and daughter were dead. When the officers got to the address, the guy was outside, completely drunk. He told them he’d killed his family, so the coppers went inside to have a look. Five minutes later, I was called to the scene.

I tried to will the shaking away, not very successfully, and closed my eyes. I gave up on clearing my head of the horrible images hours ago, so I just sat there, focusing on the cold breeze caressing my face.

I remained like that for at least ten minutes, before I sensed a presence beside me. I didn’t even have to look to know who it was. Goodwin. Always there when one didn’t need him.

“Go away,” I rasped, still without opening my eyes.

He said nothing for a whole minute – long enough for me to almost forget he was there, so it startled me when he cleared his throat. I turned to glare at him and upon seeing the look on my face, he grumbled, “Not a cat’s chance in hell, Cramer.”

I rolled my eyes, but said nothing, ignoring him. I really didn’t need his snide remarks and witty comments. They’re hard enough to deal with even under normal circumstances, let alone today.

But he didn’t give up. He never does. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He went silent, looking ahead of him and waiting for god-knows-what. I was thankful at first, but the silence kept growing louder and louder until I couldn’t bear it anymore. I sighed. “Fine, what do you want to hear?”

My question was yet again met with quiet.

If this was his way to make me talk, it was definitely working. The silence was very uncomfortable and I would do anything to break it. “It’s a case,” I admitted.

He nodded. “I know, the wife and a daughter.”

“Yes. A respectable man, hard-working, caring, religious. And what does he do? He shoots his wife, who was in bed asleep, twice in the head. Guess she never woke up. But the little girl did. She-" my voice broke despite me trying to prevent it. I cleared my throat. “She’d woken up from the noise or something and met him in the hall. And that bastard just shot… Archie, he emptied his clip, reloaded the gun and kept firing. On a thirteen-year-old girl. His own daughter.”

Goodwin drew a deep breath and looked at me sympathetically.

I sighed. I could see he wasn’t anywhere near satisfied, so I continued: “He picked her up, carried her back to her bedroom and tucked her in. Would you believe it?”

Goodwin still looked doubtful. “You’ve seen it before, Cramer.”

“I know. But that’s not…” I had a hard time looking for words, so I made a frustrated gesture with my hand. “Anyway, he went and wrote a suicide note. Then he went to buy a bottle of his favorite whiskey to an all-night liquor store, drank it and then chickened out on the suicide. He called us instead. That’s really all there is to it. Purley and I stayed until the coroner brought the bodies out, then we took the guy’s statement. He still smelled of the alcohol.”

Archie didn’t look at me when he said, “It happens all the time - abusive relationships, cheating wives, problems with children. The usual.”

I shook my head. “That wasn’t it. Everyone said they had a dream relationship. Never fought. The neighbours even argued for his innocence, said we must’ve made a mistake. That he loved his daughter, coached her softball team, led her to believe in God and morality.”

He looked puzzled. “Then what happened?”

“The bastard’s business failed. Two years ago he made a haste decision and started some sort of a consulting firm. It was risky, but he promised his wife and daughter that no matter what, he’ll take care of them.”

“It didn’t work out the way he’d imagined it, I presume.”

“No, it didn’t. He kept losing money. He put everything they had into it – every single cent, but never told his wife. Eventually he thought they’d lose the house, but he just couldn’t bring himself to tell them.”

“So he killed them? That’s crazy.”

I shrugged. I couldn’t deny that. “I think I figured it out,” I told him quietly. “Well, sort of. See, the guy was one of these golden boys, you know? Never had anything in his life go wrong, good college, good career, everything went right for him all his life. Until this. Life kicked him in the teeth and he cracked.”

Archie shook his head violently. “But that’s usually a reason to kill yourself, not your family.”

I sighed and leaned against his side to use some of his body heat. “You said it yourself, crazy. He killed them because of some twisted sense of responsibility.”

Archie put an arm around my shoulders. It was a very queer position – in both senses of the word – but it was comfortable, so I didn’t pull away. Instead I continued explaining, “He talked about them like they were his property. Much loved and pampered property, but still property. His to take care of. And if he couldn’t do it properly, than it was his responsibility to see that they didn’t suffer.”

“That’s sick,” Archie remarked and I couldn’t agree more.

We stayed like that for a few more minutes, before Archie sighed and moved to stand up. I looked up at him.

“Come on, I’ll buy you a drink,” he said and offered his hand to help me up. Then he grinned. “How about whiskey?”

“Go to hell, Goodwin.”


End file.
